


This beast you've made of me

by brokentoy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Desperate Sex, Dubious Consent, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentoy/pseuds/brokentoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please, Derek,” he says, and Derek nods, lets Stiles drag his head down so he can stroke his own against it, a contented sigh leaving Stiles' lips just as Derek starts to walk again. </p><p>The whole walk to the cabin is like that, Stiles trying to be steady on his own legs as his body aches with want, touching Derek, licking at his neck and murmuring nonsense in his ear as Derek drags them both until they finally get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This beast you've made of me

**Author's Note:**

> Of course many thanks and cookies to triedunture for she's the Beta Derek would have wanted.  
> Title from Florence + The Machine.

They're deep into the forest and the Succubus is dead right in front of them. She didn’t even have time to watch her curse unfold that Derek’s claws were already inside and through her throat.

Her blood is splattered everywhere — on the ground, on Derek’s arms and clothes — tendons and pieces of muscle that caught on Derek’s fingers as he ripped it all off while Stiles stared horrified in the background.  
  
Stiles looks so scared for a moment there Derek is afraid he’ll turn around and run, and _fuck_ , Derek thinks, but couldn’t he have thought about it before the damn demon landed her paws on him? It's bad enough that they are alone up in the woods, that his Betas stayed in town to keep track of the other two Succubi the bitch had sired, but no. _Of course_ Stiles has to get in the way of the action instead of just keeping back and weaken the damn thing with his 101 magic for dumbkidz. And okay, Stiles’ magic _has_ worked and it has been enough for Derek to kill the Succubus with one good swipe at the jugular but not before Stiles got himself infected by her powers.  
  
Derek stares at the body for a second before turning around to yell at Stiles, but as soon as he turns and their eyes meet the curse starts to manifest and Stiles’ gaze goes from sharp to barely focused to _dazed and confused_ in about ten seconds.  
  
“Shit,” Derek says harshly, and Stiles turns his head away and back again, eyes squinting like he's seeing Derek from a distance. “Stiles, look at me, we need to get you out of here. Come on.”  
  
Stiles nods absently as his legs give out and he drops to the ground. Derek grips his waist and pushes his weight onto his own side, Stiles’ heartbeat skyrocketing and thumping loudly in his ears as his smell grows stronger, richer in Derek’s nostrils.  
  
“Come on,” he says again as he starts walking among the trees, one last look at the broken body as it sizzles into the ground, burning itself away in some kind of last act of magic. They had seen a cabin somewhere to the northeast as they looked for the demon, and Derek is suddenly glad they had taken the time to check nobody was in there.  
  
The way Stiles murmurs into his neck as Derek walks them down the path is pained and hurried, like Stiles is feeling his reason slip away with every pant, every drawn-out breath he whispers into Derek’s neck. It's not long before Derek senses him getting tense, Stiles’ body a wall of warmth against Derek as the curse advances. One moment he is an immovable object in Derek’s arms and the next Stiles is again a squirming, living thing, fever-hot and pressed into Derek’s side as he tries to get so much _closer_.  
  
“Stiles,” Derek grunts, his left hand a tight grip on Stiles’ side, “calm down, we’re almost there.”  
  
Stiles moans desperately, his own hand coming up to tangle on the front of Derek’s shirt, fingers gripping the material like Derek is the only thing keeping him from burning away with whatever is consuming him from the inside.  
  
“Derek.” Stiles mouth is wet, wet and fucking soft on Derek’s skin as he groans his name, and Derek falters as Stiles presses himself even closer, flattening himself under Derek’s arm as he's trying to climb into Derek’s body. Stiles’ hand reaches up from his place against Derek’s chest into his hair, pulling at it so insistently Derek is forced to stop in the middle of a clearing and look at him. Stile's eyes are blown wide and fogged, his mouth open in a silent O, the wet shine of his lips and the pulsing movement of his tongue as he tries to calm down enough to speak.  
  
“Please, Derek,” he says, and Derek nods, lets Stiles drag his head down so he can stroke his own against it, a contented sigh leaving Stiles' lips just as Derek starts to walk again.  
  
The whole walk to the cabin is like that, Stiles trying to be steady on his own legs as his body aches with want, touching Derek, licking at his neck and murmuring nonsense in his ear as Derek drags them both until they finally get there.

They stumble into the cabin with enough grace to make the door tremble and bang against the wall, Derek’s feet heavy as he drags Stiles’ squirming body through the room. It’s been forty-five minutes since the curse hit Stiles and he’s too warm, too sweaty and too fucking gone to be any help in the walking department, so Derek has to drag him until he can safely drop him onto the couch.  
  
Stiles moans brokenly and turns into his side, a long line folding into itself in a tight ball. He’s trembling, shoulders shaking through the light material of his shirt and if Derek didn’t know any better he’d almost think Stiles was freezing.  
  
He doesn’t waste any time to get back to the door and close it; he bolts it for good measure.  
  
Now, as Derek watches Stiles twist and groan pitifully on the couch, as he looks at him trying  and failing to keep from rutting onto the fake leather couch until he comes all over it, he thinks Succubi are a fucking plague and hopes his Betas beat the remaining two to the death.

* * *

 **  
  
**Derek checks all the rooms and locks all the windows; the cabin is small — bedroom, bathroom and a little living room with kitchenette —  but it’s comfortable enough and thankfully deserted. He checks for running water and when he’s satisfied with it coming out mostly clean from the tap he washes his hands and faces, scrubs the blood and filth from them roughly. **  
  
**Then he starts to run a bath. **  
  
**He can hear Stiles panting from the other room, the restless slide of his body, the scraping of his nails as he grips the back of the couch. Derek can hear every noise he makes, every little puff of air and beat of his young heart as it thumps excited against his ribcage. He can smell the arousal leaking from Stiles’ cock, drenching up his boxer shorts and jeans, and Derek tries to focus on something else, opens cabinets and cupboards looking for clean towels until the tub is full and he can’t delay this anymore. **  
  
**He goes back into the living room and there Stiles is, mouth open against the arm of the couch, the desperate humping of his hips too stuttered and jerky to hide the fact that he’s been trying to get off since he laid down. He looks pitiful, flushed and sweaty and downright pathetic, and Derek’s chest constricts because _this is what you get when you try to help people, Stiles._  
  
“You shouldn’t have thrown yourself in the way,” he says, but it is not unkind.  
  
Stiles laughs around a moan, the long drag of his pelvis still frantic even as he forces himself to focus. “It was either me or you dude, and I couldn’t have — _ah_ **—** killed the bitch on my own — _oh fuck_ **— “  
  
** It’s the longest he’s been able to speak since he was cursed, stopping to put words together seemingly too much for Stiles now, and isn’t that just _hilarious_. Derek nods because as loath as he is to admit it Stiles is kind of right, but that doesn’t mean he should know. It would only encourage him to do this again and who knows what might happen next time.  
  
“The bath is ready.” **  
  
**Stiles doesn’t answer, just keeps rubbing into the cushions, languorous and sweet in the movements of his limbs as he tries to get some leverage with his feet. His face is half buried in the leather, his lips parted and coated with a little shine of spit, and Derek has to look away from his flushed cheeks and sweaty hair before this starts to get even more uncomfortable than what it already is.  
  
“Stiles, come on.” Stiles tries to speak again but he must be riding a particularly good wave because his eyes roll back into his head and he trembles slightly, little _ahs_ and _ohs_ escaping the tender circle of his lips. His hand starts sliding down between his legs and his hips start fucking faster into the cupped palm of his hand, and Derek can’t look away for the life of him.  
  
“Stiles.” **  
  
**Stiles’ eyes snap open at the commanding tone of Derek’s voice and he turns his head a little, as much as he can without turning his whole body on his back. “Can’t—I can’t stop,” he says, and it sounds frustrated and mortified, but most of all irritated. He looks at Derek a little helplessly, big round eyes black with lust but still completely Stiles. **  
  
**Derek doesn’t answer; he just nods like he understands and crouches down a little until he’s face to face with him. He looks at Stiles for a moment, then his hand comes up of his own accord and the next second he’s stroking the side of Stiles’ face comfortingly. **  
  
**Stiles pushes into his touch, mewling a contented sound, some kind of joyous sigh Derek has never heard from anyone. He strokes his thumb on Stiles’ skin for a brief moment, lets the tip of it catch a stray drop of sweat as it slides down from his temple on his way to Stiles’ open mouth. **  
  
**Derek resists the urge to push his finger against the plush softness of his bottom lip, tries not to think if Stiles’ pink tongue would come out to play with it, if Stiles would lick the salt away. **  
  
**What he does, instead, is try to look reassuring, try to get through the fog until Stiles is following his words when Derek speaks: “It’s okay, it’ll go away on its own. You need to cool down though, you’re burning up.” **  
  
**Stiles nods at him druggedly but he still doesn’t try to move, so Derek huffs a breath and pushes both his hands under Stiles’ armpits and pulls him up effortlessly over the couch, over the ground. He means to let Stiles walk into the bathroom on his own of course, but as soon as he’s in the air Stiles grabs for Derek like he’s a damn cat, his arms and legs latching around Derek’s body and locking onto it. Stiles is tall, as tall as Derek is, but he's leaner and fucking agile when he wants to be, and he's desperate for touch, craving it, squirming with the need for it. He folds around Derek like wrapping him up in the cradle of his body, blocking him there, is what Stiles was always meant to do in life. **  
  
**Derek doesn’t have the time to even process what the fuck is happening before Stiles starts moving again, the hard length of his cock hot against Derek’s abdomen as Stiles sighs happily into the crook of his neck. They're about the same size, but with the way Stiles is gripping Derek, holding onto him for dear life as he shivers through his pleasure he might as well have been much smaller.  
  
“ _Oh my god,_ **”** Stiles moans; like he’s surprised, like he didn’t actually climb Derek like a tree and he isn’t getting off on him exactly as he was doing on the leather couch. **  
  
**Derek doesn’t stumble under the weight and momentum of every little thrust of Stiles’ body only because his physical mass is not a hundred percent indicative of the sheer power lycanthropy gives his muscles, and he hisses a “what the fuck are you _doing_?” exactly at the same time as his hands come up to grab Stiles’ ass so he doesn’t slip down and break his neck, too. **  
  
**Of course, with the way Stiles clings to him like Derek’s the last dry patch of land in a world of apocalyptic floods Derek doesn’t think he’s really at risk of falling down.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Stiles groans, but from the sound of it he really isn’t, because even as he talks his hands start roaming through Derek’s hair again, nails scratching into his scalp slow and dirty, like it’s nothing, like this is a _thing_. **  
  
**This is not a _thing_. This is Stiles out of his mind with arousal and Derek under his assault, cock fattening up in his jeans of its own accord because apparently he can tell himself he’s immune to Stiles how many times he likes but his body doesn’t seem to be into any kind of collaboration right now.  
  
“Fuck, Stiles. You need to get off me and get into that bath right the fuck now.” Derek growls, but if Stiles had ever been frightened of him before he doesn’t really seem to be now, because the only reaction Derek gets is Stiles’ face rubbing against his own like he’s catnip and he’s a very horny, very happy little cat. Stiles seems to be one purr away from marking Derek up with his scent, and Derek wonders if amidst the fog of lust Stiles even realizes how animal-ish he’s acting. “ _Stiles_.” **  
  
**Derek tries to disentangle Stiles from the human vise he’s become around his body, but Stiles reacts to that with a plaintive whine, a little whispered “ _No_ **”** against Derek’s neck and the ever frantic humping of his hips taking it up a notch.  
  
“Please, Derek,” Stiles whispers and it’s so soft, so _trusting_ , so very much _Stiles_ even under the heavy smell of sex and want floating in the air that Derek is rendered helpless under the onslaught of sensation and he just nods and murmurs “Okay, shhh, okay Stiles. It’s okay.” ****  
  
He nods again, rests his head into the crook of Stiles neck and breathes him in as deep as he can so he can find the very smell of Stiles between all the crazy shit that happened in the last few hours, and when he finds it he clings to it, pulls Stiles even closer, hands squeezing his ass and pushing him into himself.  
  
They’re so tangled into one another that Stiles’ moan reverberates out of his body and into Derek’s in one seamless line of sound, and the bite Stiles gifts Derek with makes him shiver, cock fat and jumping into his own underwear as he involuntarily pushes it behind the weight of Stiles' balls.  
  
Their chests are so pressed together, so close that Stiles' heartbeat might as well be Derek’s own, and Stiles’ body is so warm, so taken by the brilliant burn of lust that he could pass for werewolf himself to someone’s touch.  
  
The thought of someone else’s hands on Stiles body, as fleeting as it is, makes something ugly and angry curl into Derek’s stomach and he burrows his head even deeper into the space Stiles’ neck made for _him_ , just for him, and relishes the satisfied sighs of pleasure Stiles is pressing into Derek’s own skin.  
  
His kisses, brief and sloppy and wet with little laps of tongue — rough, sweet sweet tongue — are  so kittenish Derek has to hide his smile into a bruise, suck it into Stiles’ flesh until Stiles bucks against his belly and holds on even tighter.  
  
“Yeah,” Derek murmurs encouragingly. He knows what’s about to happen here and he wants to see it, so he forces his head back and brings one hand up into Stiles’ hair; he’s glad Stiles let it grow a little, so glad he can grip a handful of it and pull his head back as Stiles looks at him, eyes wide, rosy-cheeked and mouth so red Derek wants to see it wrapped around his cock and — isn’t that an amazing picture anyway?  
  
Derek’s dick certainly thinks so.  
  
He plants his feet more firmly into the floor, widens his stance to be sure they won’t fall down in a heap of tangled limbs as he pushes Stiles down a bit more; until he can feel Derek’s heat, the fat press of his cock between his legs and then — then Stiles is trembling, panting even louder and staring into Derek’s eyes with so much _emotion_ Derek doesn’t know how to process.  
  
He wants to say something, tell Stiles that it’s okay, that he needs to let go, that Derek’s there to catch him and that everything will be all right again after, but he doesn’t say anything because Stiles is _coming right in front of him_ in what has to be a mess in his jeans, hands gripping Derek’s hair tight, eyes on his andlooking at Derek like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and —  
  
— Derek can’t do anything but follow.

* * *

 **  
  
**Later they’re on the couch, and they shed their filthy clothes and leave them on the floor as they look at each other and try to make sense of all of it. **  
  
**Stiles doesn't look particularly troubled by the fact that they’re both stained with come. His body is full of bruises from when Derek gripped his hips and fucked him against the couch, and there are bite marks all over Derek’s skin that are taking more time than usual to heal. **  
  
**Derek doesn’t ask Stiles if he’s all right, because Stiles’ cock is hard against his belly yet again and soon enough he’ll be fucking Derek’s mouth in earnest if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by. Derek is perfectly fine with it, but still Derek wonders. **  
  
** **“** Stop looking at me like that,” Stiles murmurs tiredly, because he’s smart and for some reason he gets Derek and his moods. **  
  
** **“** I just—” **  
  
** **“** For the last time. Yes. Yes. _Yes_. I consent. I already consented when I didn’t know consenting was even an option here. Dude, I just went from virgin to the whole enchilada in under three hours, can’t you please leave me basking in the moment?”  
  
Derek wants to smile at that, at Stiles’ good humor even in the face of the fucked-up situations their lives put them through, so he hides his head in the little spot between Stiles’ neck and shoulder. He suspects this may become soon his favorite place in the world but he doesn’t say that, opting for a bite to Stiles’ collarbone just because he can. Stiles is still so warm, the curse still running through his body even if he told Derek, laughing, that when it wears off he won’t be able to see a difference, he’ll be so busy wanting Derek all the time.  
  
Derek doesn’t know if it’s true, but he tends to trust Stiles these days so he guesses he will see and they’ll take it from there.  
  
For the moment the water in the bath has gone cold, but neither of them cares and that’s good enough for Derek.


End file.
